


Hey, Murder

by alphablues



Series: Alphablues Songfic Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/F, Hand Jobs, Killer Stiles, Killing, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Derek, Psychopaths In Love, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:54:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphablues/pseuds/alphablues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Stiles kills, it's for the pack. He probably shouldn't like it, but he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, Murder

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, this is totally unbeta'd, so please excuse any mistakes. Hope you all enjoy.

  
_"Hey dark eyes_     
 _Rest me with a while as I drifter closer to sleep_  
 _But still cannot_  
 _Still cannot find no peace_

 _(...)_ _Hey murderer_  
 _The killing keeps us close enough_  
 _Hey murderer_  
 _Every breath you steal is a breath that I breathe for you."_   _-_ _ **Half Moon Run**_ _,_   _Fire Escape_  


__

The first time Stiles kills someone, it's for the pack. 

 

It's the night of the full moon. More accurately, it's the early morning after the full moon. The whole pack is in Derek's newly renovated home, scattered around the house. Some of them are in their bedrooms, and some of them are in each other's bedrooms. Stiles has noticed the full moon really gets the hormones going. He's passed out face first on the couch, where he had spent the entire evening waiting up for the wolves to return from the woods. Family Matters is playing fainting in the background, casting an artificial glow across the living room. He's dead asleep, eyes moving quickly behind his lids to signal REM sleep. He is down for the count. And then...he isn't. He jolts awake suddenly. Wiping at the drool on his chin, Stiles sits up and looks around the room. He's alone, and it's quiet, so he doesn't know what woke him. Then the house tugs at his center. When they were laying down the bare bones of the house, Stiles had etched in the most powerful protective runes he could find. It was weeks before he could properly work a spell again, but it was worth because the house protected them. It was protecting them now. 

 

Stiles rises, pulling on his shirt, and moves around the house, checking the salt and red brick dust lines on all the windowsills on the first floor. They're all in tact, he doesn't underst- 

 

" _DEREK!_ "   

 

Lydia's scream is unmistakable. As is the sound of Derek's bedroom door banging open on the second floor. Stiles sprints, taking the stairs two at a time, and finds absolute chaos on the landing. Lydia is clutching her temple, crimson blood spilling from beneath her fingers, Derek is standing over her, angry and half shifted. Allison is a sight, dressed in only an oversized sleeping shirt and a pair of underwear, with a crossbow in one hand and a dagger in the other. Scott is fully shifted snarling at no one, with Isaac next to him looking sleep-mussed but angry, and Jackson is standing to the side stoically, a steady growl rising from his chest. Stiles looks into the room Lydia had been sleeping in, and sees a broken window, and a suspect looking brick lying on the floor. There's no note attached, but there is a garland of wolfsbane weaved around it. He picks it up gingerly, and throws it back outside. Then he realizes his mistake. 

 

" _Shit_. THE LINES ARE BROKEN, GET DOWN." He bellows, running back into the hallway.

 

Derek opens his mouth. "Stiles, what-" But it's too late. 

 

There's a loud crash and the whole house shakes, and like that witches swoop in through every window. A moment of tense, stunned silence falls over them, then everyone springs into action. Lydia is pushed behind a protective half circle, and all the wolves shift, growls tearing their way out of throats. 

 

"Stiles!" Allison calls, tossing her dagger his way. He catches it midair and slashes at the chest of a witch in the same motion. She cries out, and he does it again. He thinks the metal must be blessed, because it's kind of irritating his skin, and smoke is rising up from every wound he lands, but damn does it work well. He and Allison are working defense while the rest of the pack growls and bites and rips out throats. Stiles is thankful he convinced Derek to get easy-clean paint and floors, because there's a lot of blood getting everywhere. There's other stuff flying around too, like tendons and muscle membrane, but he puts that out of his mind. One witch gets close, and lands a blow across Allison's face, and blood spills down her face, but she responds in kind, launching an arrow into her heart. Stiles internally woops, because now is not really the time for cheering. Then, despite the fact that the charmed lines of protective powders have been broken, the house tugs at Stiles' center, and it burns because someone is trying to light the fucking house and fire. He is pissed, because he put a lot of fucking work into the house and this pack and he'll be damned if Derek has to watch another family turn to ash. And so he pushes back, with fire of his own, and a scream echoes from outside. One witch flinches, he figures she must be the Coveness, and all the others go still. 

 

"Alright, that's enough playing." Her voice is sharp, and she flicks a hand. The witches step back towards her pale form, and like flies, his wolves crumble and fall. Stiles would never admit it, but he is unsettled. Allison must be too, front the ways she inches closer to him. He puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

 

"What did you do?" Stiles demands. 

 

The Coveness holds up one delicate wrist to display a bracelet of purple stones. He assumes they're wolfsbane infused quartz. She cackles at the face he makes. 

 

"It was far too easy to break your lines," she tsks, ", you should've known better, really." 

 

He bares his teeth, the way he's learned from his wolves. 

 

"What do you want?" Allison demands, head held high, eyes fierce. 

 

The Coveness smiles and points one long bony finger right at Lydia. Allison takes a more protective stance in front of her girlfriend. "You'll never have her." 

 

One witch moves forward, and connects her elbow with the side of Allison's head in the blink of an eye, and she goes down like a sack of bricks. Two others grab Stiles by the arms strongly. He thinks they're the only men in the coven. They're also weak, he can feel it. 

 

"And so the Banshee is mine." The Coveness grins, and reaches out for Lydia. Stiles looks down around him, at his fallen packmates, then at the stricken look on Lydia's face, and he sees red. 

 

With barely a thought, he overpowers the men holding him. 

 

"Oh look, the little witchling can fight." The Coveness smirks, and Stiles smirks right back, a tad darker. 

 

"I'm no witchling, bitch. I'm a spark." 

 

She looks terrified for the three seconds Stiles gives her, and then Stiles is fighting. He lashes out with his magic as well as the dagger in his hand, and one by one the witches are overtaken, until there's only the Coveness and him. 

 

"And what do presume you'll do to me, huh? I'm a Coveness, you cannot-" 

 

Stiles pounces on her like a lion, slashing at her throat. He can hear the pack stirring around him, but all he sees is the witch before him. He watches with unexpected glee as she chokes on her own blood. She deserves it, how dare she come in to his home and try to-to- _how dare she_.   

 

"Please..." He thrusts his dagger through her heart and watches as she turns to dust. 

 

...

 

He moves around the landing quickly and makes sure everyone is okay, before escaping to the shower. It's what he needs because he has witch ashes and blood all over him and he's super gross. He doesn't bother asking, but strolls right through Derek's bedroom to his bathroom because he has a waterfall shower on one side and a claw foot tub on the other. He also had the fluffiest towels, because the whole pack insisted he needed some comfort after his shitty life. Stiles chooses the shower, because sitting in a pool of dirt and blood doesn't sound good tonight. An embarrassing noise escapes his throat at the first spray of hot water. Without much thought, he lathers Derek's shampoo-scent free for sensitive werewolf noses-through his hair, and cleans himself with the older man's bodywash. The barely-there scent gets him kind of hard, like always, and images of the wolf strutting into the bathroom and just-Stiles cuts of his own thought process because it seems a bit not good to wank just after you've killed someone. Instead, he finishes bathing and steps out. Drying off is a luxury with a bunny-soft white towel, and he takes his time, before wrapping said towel around his waist and walking out of the bathroom. 

 

He has every intention to go to his room and get dressed then sleep of the night's stressful events, but he finds Derek perched on the bed with his eyes shining red. Derek stands suddenly and takes a sharp step toward Stiles. It makes him nervous, because the man has an intense expression painted on his face. 

 

"I-I'm sorry about the lines breaking, I didn't think-" 

 

" _Stiles_." He shuts up, because his name is growled and Derek is prowling closer to him. 

 

Closer and closer and closer until his knees hit the edge of the bed. 

 

"Have I done something else wrong?" He asks timidly.  

 

"Shut up." 

 

Fangs peek from behind Derek's lips and Stiles does as he's told, tilting his head to expose his neck as he's been taught. There is a sharp intake of breath from Derek, and he presses his face to the exposed skin. Stiles can feel pinpricks against his pulse point. 

 

"Derek-" 

 

"You  _killed_ for me Stiles." Derek interrupts, and Stiles is confused. 

 

"Yes." 

 

Warm lips and a damp tongue flow across his neck. Against his will, his breath hitches. Derek grips his hips tight enough to bruise, and Stiles suddenly remembers that this is  _Derek_ and he has nothing but a towel on.  

 

"Derek what..." His words trail off into a moan when Derek sucks at his collar bone. 

 

"You killed for me." He repeats. 

 

"You can't be that surprised, Derek, you must've known that I..." 

 

Stiles can't finish his own words because Derek is pushing him back against the bed, until he falls against the down comforter. 

 

"But I didn't know, Stiles. I never knew or I would've...I smelled arousal," He punctuates the statement with a rough hand against Stiles' rapidly hardening cock, ", but I never knew. God, you smell so good. I've wanted you for  _ages_."  

 

Derek chokes out the words and grinds his erection against Stiles'. A wounded sound comes out of Stiles' mouth and he clutches at Derek's neck.

 

"Then fucking do something about." Stiles orders, voice strained. 

 

Something snaps inside Derek then, and he attacks Stiles mouth and rips off his towel at the same time. Stiles nearly comes when Derek grips his cock, but instead he wrestles with Derek's zipper until he can free his cock as well, moaning the entire time. The groan Derek lets out is the most beautiful sound Stiles has heard, until Derek spits onto his hand, and grips both of their cocks together. The slick sounds they make sliding against each other are pretty beautiful too. They rut against each other senselessly, Stiles more senselessly than Derek, and this isn't going to last long at all. With an whine, Stiles shoots his load, and Derek follows right after. Instead rolling of to the side like Stiles expects, he collapses right on top of him. 

 

In the wake of what they've just done, Stiles feels suddenly vulnerable. He must smell, because Derek raises up his head, and gives Stiles a strange look. 

 

"What's wrong?" He demands. 

 

"I just-is that it? Like...all that you wanted?" Stiles can't meet his eyes. If he could fidget, he would, but his arms are kind of crushed beneath a werewolf. 

 

Derek captures his lips unexpectedly, and doles out the most tender kiss Stiles has ever experience. He's such an idiot, because he feels like crying. 

 

"God Stiles, you killed for me. Do you even know what that means? You couldn't get rid of me now if you tried." 

 

And that's not really the answer Stiles was looking for, but it's enough.    

 

**Author's Note:**

> You should mosey on over to tumblr and follow me at sprayberry-s.


End file.
